


Mistletoe

by robocryptid



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Christmas Fluff, First Kiss, Holidays, M/M, Mistletoe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-19
Updated: 2017-12-19
Packaged: 2019-03-06 21:47:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13420296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/robocryptid/pseuds/robocryptid
Summary: Just a predictable, self-indulgent little drabble I wrote for the holiday season while trying to get a sense of Hanzo and McCree as characters.





	Mistletoe

The whole ridiculous lot of them were drunk. Two months ago, Hanzo had joined this elite group of some of the most dangerous, well-trained operatives in the world, and tonight all but the omnics were drunk. He would not have been surprised to find that someone — Torbjorn probably — had concocted something to let the omnics join in if they could.

As it turned out, the members of Overwatch were all winter holiday enthusiasts. They had not celebrated so frivolously as children, but Genji threw himself into the festivities anyway. Hanzo made a face as he watched Genji down another mug of eggnog; he’d found it disgusting, and it made his stomach hurt to think of the amount Genji had consumed tonight.

“Brother,” Genji cried, “we are going to spin a top—“

“A dreidel,” Angela corrected him.

“—a dreidel! For candy! Join us!”

Hanzo looked at his teammates gathered on the floor, and he backed up a bit, politely sipping at his cheap champagne. “I will watch.”

Genji waved him off and turned back to the group, picking through a pile of chocolates in front of him. And so it had gone for most of the night: Hanzo on the outskirts, watching one game or tradition after another. The only difference now was that he could feel how warm his cheeks were.

Other team members chatted together in a small group. Hanzo likely could have joined them, but he often felt like an intruder. Besides, he could see McCree staring at him from over there. Whatever McCree was up to, Hanzo was sure he wanted no part of it. Hanzo narrowed his eyes, and McCree gave him a slow smile that made the back of Hanzo’s neck prickle.

Jesse McCree was the sort of man Hanzo had expected to find tedious. He was handsome in a careless, rough way, and he clearly knew it. He flirted like other people breathed, and Hanzo, frustratingly, was not entirely immune to it. McCree was also the sort of man Hanzo knew to be dangerous in a fight, far cleverer than he wanted anyone to know, and solidly dependable when Hanzo needed a silent drinking partner. He supposed they were friends, but that is how Hanzo knew not to trust the gleam in McCree’s eye.

McCree looked at Lena, who giggled at him. Then he unfolded himself from his chair, long limbs moving languidly with the alcohol, and he walked toward Hanzo. Hanzo drained the last of his champagne to steel himself for whatever mischief was afoot.

“You know where you’re standin’, partner?” McCree was a hair too close to him, and Hanzo took a wary step back.

“By a wall,” he replied.

McCree snorted. “Smartass. Look up.”

Hanzo could sense more than see Lena watching the proceedings. Maybe others were watching now, too. His neck prickled again as he looked to the ceiling. Above his head hung a small green sprig with perfectly round red berries. Hanzo sighed and looked back at McCree, mouth setting into a tight line.

“You know what that is?” McCree asked. Faced with Hanzo’s silence, he continued. “See, where I’m from—“

Hanzo broke then with a rough laugh. “I know what mistletoe is.” McCree opened his mouth, then said nothing. Hanzo had thrown him off whatever game he was about. “Why are you here, McCree? Surely it isn’t to teach your backwards friend about your _enlightened_ Western traditions.” McCree had the sense to look embarrassed at that, though he recovered quickly.

He cleared his throat and rolled forward to lean one hand against the wall by Hanzo’s head. “If you know what mistletoe is, you oughta know that’s a silly question.”

Hanzo stood his ground, refusing to be corralled further into the corner, even if it meant he had to crane his neck up to look at McCree now. “Is it?” He looked at McCree for a moment. Hanzo’s strong suit had never been reading people, but McCree was easy enough, once one looked past the cowboy swagger. He was nervous, cheeks flushed with more than alcohol. Hanzo let himself feel flattered by it; McCree was an indiscriminate flirt, but Hanzo could make him nervous. He smirked. “You came to tease me, perhaps steal a kiss to fluster me and entertain yourself, but you won’t do it now.”

McCree deflated at that. “It wasn’t—“

“No? Then why do we have an audience?”

McCree glanced over his shoulder at the room. The shameless lot of them didn’t bother to look away. “Aw, hell,” he muttered, turning back to Hanzo.

Whatever else he was going to say was lost as Hanzo wrenched a hand in McCree’s shirt, dragging his face down so he could press a firm, chaste kiss to the corner of McCree’s wide mouth. McCree went completely still, even as Hanzo pulled back just enough to speak. “You are all talk, Jesse McCree. A dog with no bite.”

While McCree was still off balance, Hanzo stepped out of his reach and back toward the center of the room, where the rest of the team sat laughing.

Genji especially howled. “We finally know how to shut McCree up!”

Lena pulled a face. “The price is too high!”

Hanzo let himself feel smug as he accepted another glass of terrible champagne, then sat down next to Genji, ready to join in on the games.


End file.
